


if they're here to smoke, i'll go with you

by gearyoak



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Other, other characters are mentioned/make appearances - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 02:24:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18437078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gearyoak/pseuds/gearyoak
Summary: He was energetic, charismatic, authentic, original - in other words, he was an incredible entertainer.Elliott hated him.-Mirage adopts a son and he's the last to find out about it.





	if they're here to smoke, i'll go with you

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a grip since i actually sat down and wrote something. this is prolly out of character and nonsensical, but it was fun. i really just wanted to write about mirage and octane being like brothers and it turned into a lot of mirage introspection. like octane has about 2 lines of dialogue but funnily enough the whole damn thing is about him.
> 
> the miragehound is the established relationship btw. it's not the focus of the fic but it's there because it's pretty good. my first time writing these characters, as well, so if i got it wrong do what you must. some crimes may never be forgiven
> 
> title is from twenty one pilots "my blood" because i left the ability to feel shame back in high school and it's a song about being brothers AND i like it

Mirage knew this wasn’t going to be his game before they even jumped.

He was forced to land in _Swamps_ , for one thing. It felt like the second he landed, mud and too-thick water immediately seeped into every pore of his skin and soaked into his clothes. And no, he wasn’t vain enough to believe that Swamp’s dirt made it horrific.

It was a number of things that added up to make it horrific.

It was on the very edge of the island; the ring almost always seemed to cover this area faster than anywhere else. Its surrounding points of interest rarely had anything worthwhile in it if they weren’t already picked clean by other squads passing through from the north. The loot was always hit or miss, as well. Mirage was confident enough to say that maybe fifty percent of the time he was leaving Swamps with barely kitted pistols if he even left alive.

On top of it all, the way the buildings were scattered plus the web of zip lines connecting them usually lead to greener squads drifting away from each other without noticing. And, unfortunately, greenies were _exactly_ who Mirage was stuck with this game. He had made a face when he caught sight of the roster before they boarded the drop ship; two no-name contenders with a collective four games under their belts. It had taken about ten minutes after they had landed for things to go wrong, but Mirage had seen it coming in about three. In between lulls of silence and his teammates announcing every single weapon they found over the radio, Mirage had pulled up his minimap to keep track of their positions. One skirted dangerously close to the edges of the island while the other had managed to end up on the complete other side, closer to the south.

“We’re spread out,” he said, addressing them directly for the first time. “Check the map, that’s what it’s for.”

Passive aggressive? Possibly. He couldn’t help it. It was always super disappointing to not get put with another veteran, but this was _four_ times in a row where he was teamed with no-names. His record wasn’t the best lately because of it and he felt he was a little entitled to some frustration.

That frustration was soon to turn into bitter acceptance as he watched the teammate further south suddenly stop moving. It could have been one of two things; she could be sorting through her inventory having picked up too much ammo of a weapon she didn’t even have or -

“ _I_ _think somebody’s here_.”

Mirage breathed in through his nose deeply, held it for a moment, then exhaled shortly.

Gunfire exploded in the next second. His two teammates began frantically communicating over the radio, the second by the coasts doing their best to hurry over like he could help in some way. Curious, Mirage set aside the minimap and pulled up the HUD. Both had level one shields listed underneath their displays, the northern one’s already broken through and the second was without a helmet.

He dropped from the building he’d been looting it, gritting his teeth through the splash of water - through the _annoyance_ \- and sent a decoy running toward the fight. There was no way they were getting out of there, not unless they enemy squad horribly choked the fight. That was mostly fine. He didn't need them. Mirage had been able to win solo once or twice before, and he’d never admit it but a lot of it was due to luck - luck he _surely_ wasn’t going to get by landing in Swamps. So, winning wasn’t likely, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t put on a show. Fans lived for the dramatics, and Mirage was a fan favorite for a reason.

Muting his radio, he headed for the Wetlands.

 

=+=+=

 

The few buildings in the area had yet to be looted so he came away with relatively decent finds. An R-99 was strapped across his back and a Wingman hung by his side, hardly any attachments on either. He didn’t want to waste too much time to look, too nervous about the rotation of squads coming from Relay, so he gave each building one quick look over before moving on to the next.

It was when Mirage was scoffing at the fourth level two shotgun bolt he’d come across that he heard something. He froze - _not_ panicked at all - and held his breath, straining to hear it again. A door closed from the building next to his and footsteps pounded along the pavement below. Mirage winced, mouthed a curse to himself as he crouched over to a window and kept low as he peered out, not wanting whoever it was to see him first.

The culprit was someone Mirage didn’t recognized and relief flooded over him for just a second. The _last_ thing he needed was to get caught out alone by one of the vets. He knew Bloodhound was in this game, and every snap of a twig or rustling grass had Mirage subconsciously looking over his shoulder. Still, the guy sifting through Mirage’s scraps was no Bloodhound, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a team somewhere. Three against one were odds Mirage didn’t enjoy.

He waited for a few minutes, watched the newcomer stop every so often to really contemplate on what he should drop in order to pick up their seventh syringe - should it be one of his stacks of shield cells or his sixth pile of heavy ammo? No one else joined him in his search and as more time passed, Mirage became more confident that this poor dude was a solo like him. Sucks for him, Mirage decided.

He pulled the pin from one of the grenades in his backpack and let it cook for just a few seconds before sending it through the bars in the window. It rolled a few feet, stopping just behind the other solo, but Mirage didn’t wait and watch for the impending explosion. He knew it met its mark, though, because as he was descending the stairs he heard the man yelp first in shock, then in pain. He was still on his ass by the time Mirage kicked the door open, eyes widening when he caught sight of him. There wasn’t much of a struggle; the man weakly tried to reach for his gun but was stopped short by a shot from a Wingman.

“No one had your back, huh?” Mirage asked, taking casual strides over to be at the man’s side. He clicked his tongue in faux sympathy. “Hate when that happens.”

The solo on the ground gave a pitiful groan in response. Mirage shot him one last time to quiet him, the body swiftly being replaced with the loot it once carried. The man had left nothing too spectacular behind, bar the bigger heavy mag. More ammo couldn’t hurt, though, so he grabbed that and picked through the rest.

From behind the buildings, up toward Relay, he heard shouting. They must have heard the shots; maybe the solo actually _hadn’t_ been a solo and had just split off too far from his team. Either way, Mirage didn’t want to stick around for a fight - not one where he wasn’t sure of the odds, at least. He left a decoy by the deathbox and made sure the angle was right so it looked like it was rifling through it before he set off. It was best to get as much ground between the oncoming team and him as possible just to make it a little harder for them to track him. Once again, he found himself hoping that it wasn’t Bloodhound’s squad gaining on him; no amount of distance he could manage at this point would hinder the hunter’s ability to find him.

Mirage pushed himself to run faster and ignored the sense of thrill that thought left him with.

He made it around the bend of a hill when he heard the emitter on his shoulder to buzz and whir. The decoy he left behind had deactivated. Someone had attacked it, there was no way enough time had passed already for it to expire. That was fine, they’ll probably check the surrounding buildings first, make sure there wasn’t an ambush before they set out to look for him. If he was lucky, they might think reviving their fallen teammate was more important than chasing him down. Mirage’d be long gone by then.

So he was a little confused as to why he was hearing footsteps.

He was a _lot_ panicked at how quickly those footsteps were approaching.

They were fast, faster than anyone he knew of. Mirage fought the urge to look over his shoulder to get a glimpse of who it was, but he didn’t want to risk the chance of stumbling and them gaining ground. Not that they were having trouble in the first place. Mirage slid down a hill and the dirt turned ashy as they reached the burnt out forest. He ducked around a tree for cover and sent out a decoy to his right, he himself sprinting for the left. His pursuer either didn’t notice or wasn’t fooled; a spray of bullets rocked his shoulder and he heard what shields he had shatter from the impact. If he had breath to waste, he’d be using it to curse wildly. There wasn’t enough trees to hide behind and the dips in the earth weren’t deep enough to duck into. No way to break line of sight.

This wasn’t looking good.

More shots pelted his back, this time catching him midstep, and sent him hurtling toward the ground. Mirage attempted to roll as best he could, managing to get onto one knee to at least make an attempt to fight back. His R-99 was in his hands and he went to aim at his assailant, eyes scanning in front of him quickly. He got kicked in the chest.

Correction. He got _drop_ kicked in the chest.

From the speed and force behind it, Mirage was sent flying back. Dust and dirt kicked up around him as he slid to a stop that - added with the feeling of his ribs possibly having collapsed - caused a cough to wrack through his body. It was probably the last of his adrenaline that had Mirage lifting himself up to his elbows, because otherwise he’d be mostly dead with his face pressed to the ground.

In front of him, his attacker was flat on his back also but recovered far quicker than Mirage ever could. He pulled his knees toward his chest then suddenly lurched forward, getting back to his feet with the one movement. Mirage finally got a good look at the guy; smaller than him, an aviator pilot hat and mask obscuring his face and goggles covering his eyes. Mirage didn’t recognize them.

He let his head fall back with a defeated sigh. Perfect. Killed by a greenie.

 _“That’s_ what you get for trying to outrun me,” he said to Mirage, a laugh working its way through most of his words.

Mirage would have given anything to be able to say something back, spit as his feet - which, upon further inspection, were prosthetic, along with most of his legs - or maybe reach a new low and do some kind of childish gesture. To be fair, though, getting knocked by the no name was a new low for him, but apparently he was willing to dig himself deeper.

He never got the chance to do anything. Something thumped next to his head and he looked up at the guy to see him mimicking plugging his ears. The mask he wore had shark teeth; it made it look like he was smiling down at him.

Mirage looked down at the grenade he’d dropped and found his _newest_ low.

 

+=+=+

 

Waking up from dying in the games was never a comfortable thing. Elliott found it a lot like that feeling when he was half asleep and was suddenly struck with the sense of falling. Right before he hit the ground, he jerked awake in his bed. Only, waking up from dying in the arena always came with pulsing aches and ghosts of wounds that were never actually there.

The nurse stationed in his room checked his vitals and handed him a tablet once they deemed he wasn’t in any danger of succumbing to shock, then left the room. His stats were displayed on the screen, along with the that of his team’s. Combined, the both of them hadn’t even broken into triple digits. Elliott’s were nothing to write home about, sure, but he’d been working with the bare minimum _and_ by himself.

He closed out of the screen and brought up the main feed. The champion squad had long since been taken out, so the overlay was taken up by the kill leader’s banner. He felt a sense of pride when he recognized it as Bloodhound’s; they had stacked ten kills already, and Elliot had only placed 11th - ten more squads left for them to rinse through. He’s going to owe them dinner after this game, dinner _and_ drinks if they pull out a win.

The banner shimmered and the two that listed off their stats folded until it revealed their team. One Elliott recognized as the thought-to-be solo he’d killed at Wetlands; the name displayed underneath made Elliott laugh to himself. _Shockz_. On Bloodhound’s right was none other than the one who killed him, and he honestly should have expected that much. He was listed as Octane, and was also seemingly fighting Bloodhound for the title of kill leader, only down by two.

Elliot continued to watch, mostly to allow some time for his body to catch up with him, but a big part of him wanted to see how Bloodhound managed the rest of the match. Cameras favored their team more often, flicking back and forth between them and the new guy, Octane, as the two of them tore through the canyon. He’d never seen such aggressive behavior from greenies. Usually they played close to the edge of the ring and hid in buildings until they absolutely had to fight. Octane played boldly, ran into fights where it was just him and three others, pumped a hefty amount of damage into them, then ran when he was forced to reload before they could even look at him long enough to shoot. Bloodhound appeared to have already gotten used to his style, playing from a distance and spraying down anyone who tried to chase.

Elliott flopped back down onto his bed and let the tablet rest on his stomach, heaving out a deep sigh. He wasn’t going to say he was bitter, he didn’t _get_ bitter. If he didn’t get to win, then Bloodhound should, even if it meant that cocky, inhumanly-fast _asshole_ got to earn the champion title with them. Not bitter.

Not bitter.

 

=+=+=

 

Bloodhound, fresh from a win, sat across from Elliott at his dining room table. They had accepted his offer for dinner without much thought, which meant that they were silent company for him while he heated something up for himself. He moved around the kitchen, opening and closing drawers until he found the plastic straws, stuck one in a glass of whiskey, then joined Bloodhound at the table. They didn’t acknowledge the drink when Elliott set it down in front of them, kept their attention on him. It wasn’t as unnerving as it used to be, especially now that he’d known them long enough to get a little understanding of their body language. At first, outside of the arena Bloodhound seemed like a statue, except with that weird technique artists used in paintings where the subject’s eyes seemed to follow him around the room. It was a little terrifying, but now Elliott’s picked up on a few things.

Like right now, for example. There was a specific line set in their shoulders, some amusement in the way their head was tilted.

Elliott narrowed his eyes. “What?”

They let the silence stretch long enough for him to get just a little uncomfortable before they answered. “You are too quiet.” He grunted in response but said nothing. Bloodhound’s head tilted even further. “Difficult match?”

“Shut up.”

Their mask made a humming noise and Elliott knew it was because they were laughing at him. He wished the sound wasn’t so endearing, maybe then he’d be genuinely affronted by it.

“I haven’t been able to see your fight yet.”

“Don’t worry about missing it,” he assured bitterly. “It’s been in every highlight reel I’ve seen so far.”

“That bothers you.” It was a statement, but the want for Elliott to elaborate was implied.

“Of course it does! I got put with two rando’s that didn’t do anything, but _you_ got the one no-name who knew how to use a gun. _I_ never get lucky like that.” He leaned forward to slide the whiskey over to himself, plucked out the straw, and downed the drink in one swallow. “That’s, like, the fourth game in a row with a squad like that.”

“Are you referring to Octane?”

Elliott shrugged, rolled his eyes and waved around a hand. “Yeah, sure. Who ever the little bastard that caved my lungs in was.”

“Octane.”

“ _Sure_.”

“He is no ‘no name’.”

“Isn’t he? I don’t know him.”

“That surprises me.” Bloodhound shifted around some of the mess on the table to uncover Elliott’s phone. After entering the passcode for it they tapped at the screen for a few moments, which took a little longer than usual due to the gloves they wore. Elliott waited until they turned the phone’s screen toward him, which displayed a simple, two-word google search of ‘octane apex’. “He was well known before he joined the games.”

The results were mostly made up of articles, all titled about the same: **Daredevil Makes Explosive Debut**. Trite, but accurate. Pages were filled with stills or clips from the day’s game that all contained Octane either way too high in the air or too close to an enemy squad, but he always seemed to come away without much of a scratch. Elliott made a point to scroll passed a GIF of the camera’s view of his own brief interaction with Octane that ended with him sprawled on his back.

There was more variety the further down he went. Passed the old rumors and speculation on whether or not Octane was actually joining the games were links to streaming websites and different social medias. A lot of them, surprisingly, were fan accounts that all posted compilation videos or commented on threads discussing record times of . . . something.

“You really didn’t know?”

Bloodhound’s sudden question startled Elliott enough to jerk his head up to look at them. At some point they had gotten up and refilled their glass and replaced the straw. He hadn’t even noticed them move.

“No, and I’m a little offended you knew before I did. Don’t you live in the woods?” He looked back to the phone and noted that he’d done about a few months worth of scrolling, most of the results now dated to earlier that year. “He just made a comeback? From what?”

“Creating an explosion in order to beat a record Gauntlet time that lead to him losing his legs.”

Elliott’s brow rose. “Really?” Bloodhound nodded. “So he’s an idiot. I got killed by an idiot. How was that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It wasn’t,” they replied flatly. “I was only letting you know.”

The oven beeped behind him. Elliott let it go for a moment to stare at the other in order to express how much he didn’t like their sense of humor. Bloodhound stared back, still obviously amused.

Elliott sighed and stood up. “Yeah, well. Thanks for that.”

 

=+=+=

 

Octane - or Octavio Silva, as Elliott learned - was a genuinely sweet kid.

It was honestly impressive, being only 24 years old and managing to be famous without making people angry. He still did dumb and ridiculous things, but only to himself and just for the thrill of it. On top of it all, his personality shone through everything he did. Every famous stunt he’d ever performed was documented with a photo of him mid-air, throwing up devil horns with one hand and balancing his own phone in another.

That seemed to be a signature as well; Elliott had come across multiple selfies taken by fans that included the gesture. One that stuck out the most was a photo taken at what looked like an indoor dirt track. Octane was knelt in order to be on level with the child next to him, both in front of a bike that must have been Octane’s judging by the gear he wore. The child was ecstatic and it was obvious in the way she stood, not the look on her face. That was covered by a mask that looked a lot like the one Octane wore in his first Apex game.

He was energetic, charismatic, authentic, original - in other words, he was an incredible entertainer.

Elliott _hated_ him.

He’d never admit that he did, because that was childish and Elliott never pouted unless he was meaning to look cute. That, and admitting to it would inevitably lead to the question of why. He certainly didn’t feel _threatened_ by the kid. Why would he? He was Elliott Witt. He was _Mirage_ . The fans already loved him. Octane’s crowd were dedicated followers from his original fanbase, obviously, and anyone else were just jumping on board a hyped up bandwagon. They’d get bored soon enough. He was _not_ going to be washed up at the age of 30.

Elliott wasn’t going to let himself worry. He wasn’t even worried in the first place.

 

=+=+=

 

Pathfinder was the first of Mirage’s squad on the dropship. He sat in the middle of Squad Green’s three color-coded seats, clearly in high spirits if the smiley face on his chest’s screen was anything to go by.

“Hello, friend,” he greeted as Mirage took a seat next to him.

“Hey, buddy.”

Mirage leaned forward to finish lacing up his boots while Pathfinder continued on with idle chatter. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the roster as he had thought he’d been running late at the time. He’d caught his squad’s color and that was about it, so he was a little glad to come across the robot sitting where he was. After the last few games, Mirage deserved another vet on his team. Honestly, he was expecting Wraith to take the last seat. Sometimes, the producers liked to do what Mirage could only think of calling “throwbacks” and putting together old teams from previous seasons. Mirage, Pathfinder, and Wraith had been a popular one, mostly because they were flashy as all hell. Between Wraith’s proficiency in hand-to-hand combat and her weird, dimensional nonsense, Pathfinder’s survivability and trickshots using his grapple, and Mirage being Mirage, they always made appearances in highlight videos. While a lot of him hoped to get put with Bloodhound this season, Mirage wouldn’t mind if they all teamed up again.

However, Wraith was not the one to take the last seat.

“Hello, friend,” Pathfinder said once again.

Octane looked up from where he was twisted around, fidgeting with the jumpkit strapped to his waist. “ _Hola, amigo_.”

“It will be a pleasure killing with you.”

That earned Pathfinder a surprised laugh. “Of _course_ it will be.” With a click, the straps to the jump kit were safely fastened. He leaned around the robot to catch Mirage’s eyes. “How do your ribs feel?”

Mirage snorted without meaning to. “Like a little dude with metal legs kicked them in.”

Octane’s head fell back in another laugh but didn’t say anything else, settling in his seat again when the announcement of takeoff played over the ship’s speakers.

Pathfinder was leading their jump, pinging a point on their HUD and pausing before he actually jumped. Octane agreed immediately and Mirage had to wonder if he actually looked. His leg had been bouncing during the whole flight and usually Mirage would have chalked it up to nerves. It was only his second game, sure, but Octane didn’t seem nervous, per se. It was more like impatience that turned into wild excitement when Pathfinder finally deployed them.

Repulsor was a decent drop considering the loot, and the route the dropship had taken lead it to be unpopular. Octane hit the ground running and he was about as fast as Mirage remembered. One second he was in between the two-level buildings with Mirage and Pathfinder and in the next he was at the opposite end of the enclosed area, diving into one of the three garages. That was going to get him killed, Mirage was calling it in the beginning. He didn’t know how or why, but he knew - that was just how this pre-season was going so far.

They made away with more than decent stuff. It was probably the first game Mirage left the starting area feeling confident about his loadout. The attachments weren’t the best, but for starting out he couldn’t really complain. Equipped with excellent shields, good enough meds, and enough ammo, the only real issue was the movement of the ring. Mirage pulled up his minimap to check where it would end up. Another desert circle; the first round seemed to close off around Airbase and Runoff. That was going to be a hike, even if they didn’t come across anyone while trekking through the river. It would be smart for them to start moving.

His hand went to the comm. in his ear, but it crackled on before he could speak.

“Ring’s far, compadres.” Octane was further than any of them, having stated he was going to check the landing pad south from there, but was rapidly approaching them. He didn’t even sound like he was running. “If you don’t have robotic legs, you need to _go_.”

“I have robotic legs,” Pathfinder said to Mirage. “But I am still going to run. You should, too.”

Mirage raised a brow. “Is there a consultation fee or are you just feeling extra giving with your help today?”

Pathfinder’s screen brightened. “I always help a friend for free.”

Everyone. _Everyone_ was out to get him. “Good to know.”

 

=+=+=

 

The ring was at their backs the entire time. It finished its first movement just outside of the Bunker where Mirage waited outside, healing up the minor burns he’d endured when the ring caught up to him. He was fine with that; despite being left alone, he wasn’t going to be the one to trip over one of Caustic’s gas traps that got left behind. Mirage hadn’t heard anything, though, and when he checked his minimap to see the next movement he found that Octane and Pathfinder were already on the other side. That made Mirage laugh. It was more likely that Caustic had been able to pick up the traps before he left, but it was funnier to think Caustic was unable to stop at his favorite spot. The look on the scientist’s face when suggesting to land Bunker but getting told no would have been something Mirage treasured.

He stood up from where he’d taken cover behind an opened supply bin and tried to make his way to the open doors. Gunfire at his feet made him to stop.

“Shots fired,” he called into the radio, diving back toward his previous cover. A bullet hit him on the shoulder, but it ricocheted thanks to his shields and most of the damage was absorbed. “ _And_ they’re hitting me!”

“We will be there soon,” Pathfinder responded. Mirage could just barely make out Octane’s excited shout of _‘_ __I_ t’s go time!’ _ before Pathfinder added on a chipper, “Try not to die.”

Mirage’s first thought was to try and run for the Bunker again. He didn’t know where his attackers were positioned or how many there were so forcing them to give chase down an actual tunnel would be ideal. The Thermite Grenade that soared over his head dashed that idea immediately as it landed and spread a sparking fire between Mirage and the doors. Cursing, he sent out a desperate decoy out running for one of the houses sat in the river. It got shot down instantly, putting the shooters relatively close by. Mirage cursed again when he heard approaching footsteps, held his Peacekeeper close, and got ready to run.

A no-name appeared around his cover and Mirage didn’t hesitate, pumping a shotgun blast into their chest and sending her flying back. He heard the distinct sound of the shields she had shattering, but she wasn’t out of the fight quiet yet.

Before she could recover from her daze, Mirage cloaked himself, sending out a several decoys to serpentine through in hopes of throwing off any teammates she had nearby. A few of them took bullets from uphill and fizzled out. He ran in the _opposite_ direction of those shots, sticking close to the cliff face and heading for one of the structures suspended in the river. They were partly in the ring, which kind of forced his back to a wall, but he could argue that he was in no better place out in the open.

He was pressed against the door recharging what damage had been done to his shields when more gunfire erupted outside. Mirage took the time to reload the single shot he’d spent in his Peacekeeper and breathed. There was no word from his team yet. Could his attackers be getting third-partied? If he was lucky, he could use that as cover, but he typically wasn’t ever lucky and he’d probably get sprayed down the second he stepped outside.

Something collided on the other side of the door and Mirage immediately leaned all of his weight on it, swearing once again.

“It’s me! It’s me, it’s me, it’s me!”

Mirage jolted back and the door flung open, Octane running through and slamming it back shut. Bullets _tink_ ed off the metal paneling just after it closed.

“Nice timing.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mirage replied offhandedly. “There was one I hit pretty hard, close to the entrance. They might fight pretty defensively to give her time to recharge her shields - “

“I got her on the way over. They’re gonna be defensive no matter what.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome for that, too.”

The sound of footsteps pounding along the dirt and then thumping up the side of the building. At least one of them was on the roof now. Mirage followed the sound with his eyes as if he could see the person through the wood. He looked back down to Octane, who seemed to have been doing the same thing, and blinked at him.

“What’s the plan, compadre?”

Mirage couldn't help but blink again. “ _You_ were the rescue! One would think you’d have some semblance of a plan if you just ran out here!”

Octane laughed once. “The plan _was_ to just run out here.”

Their radio crackled to life. “I am here to save the day!” Another bout of gunfire sounded from near the Bunker. “Maybe!”

Mirage cocked his Peacekeeper with a calming breath. “Okay. Okay, let’s just keep going with your original plan.”

If not for the mask and goggles, Mirage was sure he would have seen Octane’s features light up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, fuck it - if we don’t know what we’re doing, how could they?”

 

+=+=+

 

At one point, some time between boarding the dropship and managing to get top three in the day’s match, Elliott had stopped hating Octane. Now he was caught stressing over whether or not he hated that he didn’t hate him.

“He doesn’t remind you of anyone?” Bloodhound asked after they had gotten the rundown of Elliott’s day during the short walk to his apartment.

They hardly ever watched recaps, so gritty details that weren’t just who won and who lost were usually left for Elliott to fill in. They listened silently as he recounted his match, about how Pathfinder had been able to take his attackers from their first fight by surprise after Octane blew through one of them and continued running, how unlucky their positioning was due to poor ring movements afterward, how they worked through all their meds to compensate for ring damage by the time Bangalore’s squad came across them.

“Who, the kid?” Bloodhound didn’t confirm, but they didn’t deny so Elliott figured he’d made the right guess. “No. Should he?” Their head moved in a certain way that told Elliott they were rolling their eyes at him. “Wait, really? I should know?” More silence. “Are they famous? Is it an actor?”

“Yes,” they replied, almost a little too fast.

Despite himself, Elliott laughed. “There is _no_ resemblance between the two of us.”

“You are both talkative. Too talkative, at times. Both enjoy being the center of attention. Both senses of humor are similar. Both walk the line between confidence and arrogance like a tightrope. Both - “

“Okay,” Elliott interrupted, holding the door to his apartment building open for them. “This got hurtful really fast.”

“One is more dramatic than the other.”

He scowled at their back. “I’m telling Octane you said that.”

 

=+=+=

 

Their next game started out rough. Dropping with Wraith as jumpmaster usually meant popular landings where Mirage had to scramble for a weapon or run until she was able to back him up. He didn’t mind it, not really. It was nerve-wracking, sure, but usually rewarding. That was probably why Octane seemed have the time of his life.

They had left Skulltown with an impressive collection of kills between them, but with very little left in way of gear. Everyone had used what small amount of ammo they’d found in the houses during the fight, leaving little to spare. Mirage had hoped the western settlement had been left alone, but when they got close he could see opened doors and the remnants of a battle long since finished.

“That really sucks,” Mirage announced.

“Yeah,” Wraith agreed, voice monotone. “We have to go, too.”

The first ring closed far up north toward the east, which meant they had to move through the river where teams usually hunkered down on the steep hillside, ready to fire down into the ravine for easy kills. With what they had, they’d never make it. Mirage’s nose scrunched in distaste. “That _really_ sucks.”

He pulled up his minimap, clicking his tongue quietly while he thought. There were so many places nearby they could have checked had they not been caught in such a long fight back at Skull. Even if they set out now, they’d never be fast enough to loot in time to make the ring. Wraith had used her portal beforehand and Mirage didn’t know how all the interdimensional stuff worked, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to punch one out again - not for a good bit, at least.

Mirage looked over to Octane. “Hey, kid.” He perked up, turned toward Mirage. “Could you make it over to the Airbase before the ring starts moving?”

Octane laughed a little. “In my _sleep_ , compadre.”

Mirage shouldered off his backpack; it was large and one of the only good things that came out of Skulltown. He held it out to Octane, “Here, trade me. Me and Wraith’ll start heading out so we don’t get caught by the storm.” Mirage took the bag Octane had been carrying and watched him put on the new one. “There should be enough meds in there, just in case - and avoid Bunker if you can,” he suggested as Octane started off. “As we’ve learned, you can never predict what kind of lunatics are camping the doors.” Before the daredevil got too far, Mirage called out to him again. “And if you see anyone, just run, even if they see you!”

That made Octane pause, but he recovered relatively well. “Uh, okay - “

“And keep track of the time!”

“ _Okay_ _!”_

He rounded a corner and was out of sight. Mirage turned to face Wraith. “You ready?”

She leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Are _you_ ready?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smirked a little. “I think you forgot to tell him to put on his coat. It might get cold out later.”

Mirage’s expression soured. “Don’t start with me.”

“He might come back, actually, you didn’t give him any lunch money - “

“I just don’t want him getting himself killed like a dumbass. It’s easier to win this thing with a full team and all.”

She didn’t seem to believe him, the way her smirk deepened was evidence to that. He retaliated by frowning back, and continued to frown even as they both set off for the river.

 

+=+=+

 

Before the actual season started, Elliott had made sure he had a week or two free of scheduled games so he could visit his mother. It was hard to find time when he got into the thick of the Apex Games, so he’d often go for months without seeing her.

Their old house was essentially a glorified workshop with bedrooms; tech and tools were strewn about every surface, some of which Elliott recognized and others must have been new projects his mother had taken on. Still, she’d managed to maneuver her way around the chaos in order to pull together some meals for them despite Elliott’s begging to take her out to eat at least once.

It was the last night he’d be spending with her when the last game of the pre-season aired live. Him and his mother spent the first hour or so in the kitchen cleaning up after their dinner. Elliott hadn’t been too worried about missing anything. The first half of the program was usually filler, showing off how all the unlucky squads got eliminated early on or particularly flashy squad wipes. He’d known Bloodhound would still be in it by the time they were able to sit down. Elliott couldn’t remember the last time Bloodhound had been eliminated before they reached top five _at least_.

He found that the match had moved fast, though. There were only three squads left, two of them in the middle of a fight. Bloodhound and Octane were running along the sand dunes by Skulltown, heading for a fresh supply drop when a Longbow shot hit the sand in front of the former. They froze in their tracks, spinning around to look through their own sights and fired a shot, then made their way back down toward Skull and their third teammate, Wraith. Octane continued for the drop.

“He was on your team before,” his mother mentioned. Her legs were crossed, a tablet with notes on the couch beside her and a cloth in one hand, busy cleaning some kind of layered disc with about seven screens on it depending on which layer she had open.

“Yeah, a few times.”

“Is he nice?”

Elliott snorted. “No, he’s an asshole. Why, you gonna call his mom on him?”

She gave him a stern look that was softened by her half smile. “Is he nice?” She asked again.

“He’s no Caustic, if that’s what you mean.”

A solid crack sounded from the TV’s speakers and they both looked back to the screen. The drop Octane had opened had contained a Kraber. The rifle was huge, probably longer than Octane was tall, and Elliott would have laughed if he hadn’t been shocked into blinking once or twice at the two consecutive headshots he landed with it. The two no-names who’d gotten hit fell instantly having either not healed fully when they stepped into the desert or had gotten unlucky with the helmets they’d found. Either way, the shots were impressive. Even Octane seemed surprised with himself. He lowered the rifle and stared out at the death boxes that had taken their place for a solid second, which was the longest Elliott had seen him sit still, before shouldering it and running over to them. He was forced to move by one of Skulltown’s branches in order to reach it and the second he rounded a corner, the third of the fallen two fired an entire clip at him. Startled, Octane fired another shot that went wide, pinging against the building, but was forced to keep running once his shields shattered.

The person attacking moved to follow and didn’t notice Wraith emerging from the building behind them. She usually moved without footsteps, so when the guy let out a scream as the heel of her boot connected with the back of his head, Elliott was confident that a good bit of it was due to pain _and_ shock. He tried to retaliate but it was shut down fast enough by Wraith knocking away his attempted swing and slipping her kunai in between his ribs. The counter at the top right of the screen declared there was only two squads left.

Almost immediately, things went wrong, as they tend to do in the endgame. At some point, Bloodhound had taken hits to their shields. They must have been chased by the no-name Wraith killed just before, but he must have lost them in the buildings and shifted focus on Octane instead when he ran into view. They hid in a building with one door closed and sat right up against it to peer out as they recharged their shields. Elliott saw the exact moment they realized they were being watched - their shoulders stiffened and their head twitched ever so slightly. They had enough time to spin around, but not nearly enough time to evade the Arc Star that lodged in their chest armor.  It exploded, sending Bloodhound through the now shattered door and locking up their limbs to the point of near immobility. Lifeline ran through the doorway after them, grinning big when she finished them off quickly with her rifle.

Elliott cursed under his breath and his mother only gave him a sideways glance for it.

Bangalore came sprinting through the doorway then, too, and Elliott had to hold himself back from making a distressed noise. Of _course_ it would be her that they were up against in the last fight. That was saying nothing about Lifeline - he knew first hand that the cheery disposition definitely did not mean she was incapable of some truly gruesome things. And on top of those two, there was a third sulking about if the shots around the ridges were anything to go by.

This was bad, Elliott decided.

Wraith had managed to make it toward the left branch of Skulltown, the closest to Octane. He was still on the outskirts with no real place to run to. Shots from the enemy’s third pounded into the cliffside above and around him, keeping him contained in the one spot with a brittle, giant rib bone for his only cover.

Lifeline and Bangalore caught up to Wraith, who was forced to phase after taking a decent amount of hits from both of the women’s rifles. Octane seemed to recognize her situation and risked popping his head out of cover, Kraber aimed, and fired at the two just as Wraith shifted back into reality.

He missed and Lifeline didn’t. Wraith went down. Elliott swore a little louder.

Lifeline turned her fire on Octane immediately. He seemed willing to go back and forth with her up until a second line of fire joined hers; Pathfinder - their third - was now at her side. Octane holstered his own weapon, turned, and took off down the hill. More Arc Stars and regular frags were thrown in his direction but he was too fast, running passed them before they exploded. If anything, they provided a little bit of cover as the sand they kicked up took a moment to clear up.

He made it to the right branch of Skull, ducking under the tarps of the fenced extension. Lifeline was on his tail, running in the direction of a building further in like she was planning on cutting him off. She wasn’t expecting him to whip around as fast as he did in order to peek at her through the fence, and she certainly wasn’t expecting him to actually land the shot. With the way Octane’s frame vibrated, Elliott could tell he was laughing. He retraced his steps and exited the extension again so he was able to climb on top of the building. Pathfinder was left out in the open, stilling catching up. An easy target. The robot got a few shots on him, but ultimately fell as well.

Just Bangalore, now. It seemed like even the cameras had no idea where she was. Octane hugged the side of the ventilation unit as he repaired the damage done by Pathfinder, only jolting a little bit when alarms blared around the island. The ring was moving and it was at his back instantly. He fumbled a little bit on the shield battery as he was forced to run with it for a second or two so he could stay inside the ring without taking damage.

“C’mon, kid,” Elliott heard himself say.

Instead of the Kraber, Octane retrieved his R-99 when the battery depleted. He ran across the rooftops, leaping over gaps, the ring not letting up on its chase. Below him, to his left, a door opened. For a moment, Elliott thought Octane hadn’t heard it, too focused on not tripping to listen. Bangalore heard him. She reached for her smoke launcher, hoping to obscure her path.

Octane dropped from the roofs and onto the dirt. Bangalore turned, but her gun was not in her dominant hand. Octane fired, Bangalore fired, and the gunshots didn't stop, even when one source vanished and Bangalore was replaced by a deathbox. Elliott slumped back into his seat and let out an exhausted breath he’d been holding since the fight started. The banner filled the screen, announcing a winner had been decided and he could barely see Octane _actually_ running around in excited circles behind it. He let out another sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I thought you didn’t like him,” his mother asked. She had been watching him, apparently, and doing little to hide it. Still, Elliott hadn’t noticed.

“I like _Bloodhound_. I’m happy _they_ won.”

The look on her face was disbelieving. “Alright,” she said anyway. The weird disc she had been fiddling with was put on the coffee table along with the cloth and tools she had been using. “Come on, _kid_. Your flight is an early one out tomorrow.”

Elliott narrowed his eyes. “I don’t appreciate the tone that was just used there.”

“I don’t care.”

 

=+=+=

 

“How are you feeling?”

Mirage finished reloading his Wingman before he looked over to Bloodhound. Gunfire and explosions sounded off from around their cover. There were quite a few squads left for the size of the ring and it all kicked off when four of them converged in the same open field.

“How am I feeling?” He laughed. “Pretty exda - estra - extro - extraodin - “ God damn it. “Pretty great. I found a Skullpiercer earlier and, like, seventeen Arc Stars. They all lost this fight and they don’t even _know_ it, yet.”

Bloodhound was leaning up against a rock, looking through the scope of their Longbow to keep track of the battle. “That is good to hear. I was referring to your thoughts on this season, however.”

“Am I supposed to be feeling bad vibes about it? I got on a squad with you, babe, I got no reason to complain.”

They lifted their rifle and shifted until they were fully behind the rock and able to look at Mirage fully. Whatever effect he’d hoped his flirting had seemed nonexistent. “Not even about our squadmate?”

Something thundered out in the field and before Mirage could ask or even look for himself, footsteps came pounding toward them. A figure ran through their cover, passed it, and didn’t stop.

“Air strike,” Octane screamed to them. It was followed by an ecstatic cheer and near maniacal laughter as the explosions began shaking the ground beneath them.

Bloodhound stood suddenly, switched out their rifle for their Mastiff in one fluid motion and leveled a no-name just before he came around their cover. He must have been chasing Octane over the hill, tunnel visioned on eliminating him. They cocked it, ready to fire again, and regarded Mirage. “Come, _Félagi_ fighter. You and I both know he won’t stop soon.”

Mirage blinked once at the smoking weapon before his brain caught up. He accepted their offered hand to pull him fully to his feet and copied their pace to job by their side, laughing a little as bullets continued to spray around them.

“Maybe I should ask you how you’re holding up!” He shouted over the commotion. “You’re the one who’s stuck with us!”

He heard Bloodhound huff and he knew it wasn’t from exertion. “There is no other squad I would rather be on.”

Before Mirage could respond or even begin to address the burning warmth in his chest at their words, a mechanical _woosh_ caught his attention. When he looked from Bloodhound to the source, he was met with the sight of Octane about thirty feet in the air, gun aimed for the fight taking place behind them. He took a shot, screamed in what might have been shock and excitement, then hit the dirt in a clumsy roll.

By the time they caught up to him, he was on his feet and sprinting alongside them. “Another down! _Damn_ , I’m good at this!”

“Nice work, kid. Keep it up and me and Houndie might consider not kicking you off the team.”

Octane scoffed. A little bit of Mirage still detested how he never seemed out of breath. “Kick _me_ off? Who’s the kill leader, _amigo_?”

“Kill leader, schmill leader - you got lucky _and_ you stole two of my kills!” Mirage retorted, following Octane into the building he headed for and rushed in before he could close the door on him. “Check the damage - we’re checking the damage after the match! Also, Hound would _never_ kick me off because I’m better looking - “

“ _Sal de aquí!”_

“I need ammo! You took my kills _and_ my loot!”

“Eyes up,” Bloodhound spoke suddenly, quieting both of them. Mirage would have felt guilty if they didn’t sound so amused. “The battle outside has ceased. Another hunt begins.”

Mirage nodded at them with a little grin. “About time we get into a decent fight. We’re the dream team plus Octane, we gotta show off for the crowd!” He ignored Octane’s continuous murmuring in Spanish that was undoubtedly some form of cursing. “This season’s gonna be _easy_.”

**Author's Note:**

> mirage: i hate him  
> octane: hey  
> mirage: i'm ur dad!! boogey woogey woogey!!!
> 
> if there's mistakes - especially with the spanish and pronouns - let me know :^)
> 
>  
> 
> "Sal de aquí!" -> "Get out of here!" (hopefully)


End file.
